Fortune's Fool
by Toblerone
Summary: Alright Romeo, here’s your chance, say some poetic last words. Some blood, mention of death, and swearing. My interpretation of a worn out, bitter Logan Cale. Reviews appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nada. Except some chocolate pretzels I have with me, but I am going to eat those soon... so...

Wow. I tried ignore this idea as long as I could, but it just kept coming back to haunt me. My apologies.

If you can't take the thought of one of the main characters mortally wounded than this fic ain't for you.

This one's from Logans POV and it's basically M/L (because there is no other DA couple!) Set sometime after freak nation

Alrighty then, here we go:

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**Fortune's Fool**

_By Toblerone_

* * *

Funny how life turns out. 

I'm down suddenly, on my back, on the dirt. Well, technically it's pavement, but it is pretty filthy down here – plenty of dirt to go around. But that's not the point no, not the point at all. Because as preoccupied as I tend to be with all the dirt in the world, right now all I can focus on is the crimson coating on my fingers as I pull them away from my abdomen.

Oh crap.

There's noise, there has to be. Shouts, screams, bangs – this is a battle after all. Well, technically it's a bloodbath, but it seems more poetic to call it a battle and, after all, I love poetry. But that's not the point, no, not the point at all. The point is that despite all the glory and carnage of this bloody battle, I can't hear the cries for freedom or the screams of hate. All I can hear is the pounding of blood in my ears. Blood which should be happily flowing through nice little veins and capillaries or pumping through a heart that's been broken so many times that by all rights shouldn't be pumping as strongly as it is... or was until just a few seconds ago.

But alas, now the blood is rushing to, pouring out of the last place I want it to be either rushing to or pouring out of – the gaping hole in my stomach.

It's best not to panic in these situations. I suppose that's how I've made this far: shot in the back – don't panic; thrown from a building – don't panic; they've got you tied up in a shack – don't panic; you've lost the speech – don't panic; she's smirking, she kissed you, you love her, she's leaving, she's shaking, she's dieing, she loves him, she doesn't love you, she never did...

Don't panic

But that's not the point, no, not the point at all.

The point... the point is... I think this is it. I think that I've run out of second chances, I think that this is it the end. I think that after thirty two years, a blown-out spinal cord, and a few stolen kisses, now I've finally fallen for the last time… and I'm never getting back up. So I guess there really is nothing to panic about… I mean what's the point of worrying about what I'm going to do next when... I'm really never going to be doing anything ever again.

I'm going to die.

Shit, no, no, no, I cant – NO – I have things to do, things to finish… none of them come to mind at the moment, but god damn it, I know they're important. The down trodden! Yes! I've got to help them, I have to save them! That's my purpose, my calling! It _can't_ end like this!

Shit, I can't breathe. I can barely move. There's nothing I can do anymore, I've been shot down – literally. _Jesus_ it _hurts_.

Fuck, did it hurt this much last time? I can't remember. Man, talk about irony – here's an event that completely changes my life and I cannot remember the details. Wait, what details? There was dirt, then pain, then blood, then blackness... that was about it. This is lasting a lot longer then before...heh... maybe I'm just used to be shot at...

Somewhere the Gods are laughing how clichéd this all is. It's all been done before, the scarred mortal bleeding for the indifferent goddess. Hear ye, hear ye, The Great Eyes Only dies today in the filthy, bloody streets of terminal city – where he fought for a woman who never loved him. And he, the poor fool, during his last hour (couple of minutes?) of life can think of nothing but her. The mere mortal can only look around and pray that he may lay eyes upon her and be entranced by her beauty one last time. However, she is not in his line of sight, indeed she is nowhere to be found. And (get this) he is wondering if she is _safe_, wherever she may be.

Suddenly the fool spots her and with what little air his lungs have left, he wastes a gasp. Why such a waste? Well, like all sad adoring men, he is left breathless by her.

_O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!_

Quoting Shakespeare now? Ha! It's been done.

I can't help myself, alright, I can't. I've tried to let her go, to forget. I've lain awake at night telling myself that she isn't worth losing sleep over. I've stared at computer willing my brain to focus on the screen in front of me and to stop thinking about her – about where she is, how she doing, _who she is with_.

"Stop it," I tell myself, "stop thinking about her – stop thinking about her with _him._"

But I can't stop.

I thought I knew what jelousy was. Max was not my first unrequited love. Ex-girlfriends often moved on before I was ready, I had pined for taken women long before she had even escaped into the world.

I had no idea what jealousy was. I know now. I know jealousy is rage and nausea and regret and rage and envy – all given brass knuckles – beating the shit out of your soul for every minute of every day. Its seeing _them_, hearing about _them_, thinking about _them_. It's consuming and relentless and it nags and laughs at you as often as it can.

I hate it. I hate what it makes me – _that guy_. The asshole ex-boyfriend that won't leave her alone, that demands the new boyfriend take care of properly, that drinks and drinks until her _roommate_ has to carry his ass out the bar back to his room.

_Oh, what a bitter thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes._

I have tried, very hard, to stop it – the jealousy and everything that comes with it. But mere mortals tend to be idiots when it comes to love, and when someone else has what they want, _so badly_, they tend to lose it.

Well this is wonderful, my last moments are upon me and all I can think about is how much I—

Oh no.

She's spotted me.

Her eyes go wide, she—

No Max, no! Do not come over here. There are bullets flying all over the place and _they_ would _love_ to take out the leader of this transgenic rebellion. If you move from your current position—

Oh well, she never listens to me anyway.

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Well there it is. There's another chapter almost finished, just needs some tweaking. 

Tell me what you think. Hope it wasn't too bad.


	2. Chapter 2

Diclaimer: Well the chocolate covered pretzels are long gone, so I really don't own anything now.

Well here is the second part, as promised, hope it's not too bad.

Man, it's weird, death-fics are like the most angsty fics _ever_ yet I didn't feel like it was angsty fic at all while I was writing it. Maybe it was the music selection I was listening at the time. Dave Matthews always has mixed results when it comes to inspiration. Whatever.

btw: Stay or Leave by DMB is the _perfect_ song for Blah Blah Woof Woof

Anywayz.

* * *

**Fortune's Fool**

_Part II_

_By Toblerone_

* * *

She is next to me in an instant. She rips off her jacket and presses it against my gaping hole (ouch) and I can hear her muttering swears under her breath. It's a nice jacket, leather, so I can understand why she would upset about having to ruin it.

Alright Romeo, here's your chance, say some poetic last words. Tell her how she saved you, over and over, even if you didn't even realize it at first. Tell her how when she threw her arms around you and told you that she'd seen and ambulance and that it had scared her, it made you think that maybe there was something in this broken world worth living for. Tell her how there were mornings where you only got up because there was some slight chance she would show up for dinner that night. Tell her how you couldn't sleep for days after she stole your poem because _what did it mean! _Tell her how you would have done anything to bring her back when she died, _anything_. Tell her you'd kill for her, you'd die for her… oh wait you did… and you will.

Tell her that you love her… Again.

"Max-" but I interrupt myself with some harsh coughing. Damn it, can't I even die eloquently? There's a metallic taste. Blood? That's new.

"Hold on," she's looking around, frantically, and I wonder if they've found some new entrance point, "Where the hell are all the goddamn medics! Where the fuck are they!"

As she continues to shout for someone (to take me off her hands) I am once again surprised by the intensity of my own longing. I haven't been this close to her since I ran my gloved fingers down her back, lingering on her naked skin as long as awkwardness would allow. Now, I am once again unable to see anything but her. It seems I am trapped, as I always am, in staring at her in some sort of wonder. The shape of her face, the glow of her skin, the slope of her neck, all ensnare my gaze. I can smell cherries and vanilla and _Max_, and I think that this might not be such a bad place to die: next to her.

"Joshua!"

Joshua? What? Oh, for crying out loud! Every time I get her alone someone else has to take her away! Can't she be mine for five fucking minutes! Is that too much to ask for? She was my family before the whole fucking lot of you escaped, can't you understand that? She sat close to me on top of that rusty old building and she told me _I was her family_. Don't any of you get that? Don't any of you understand? We were family. We were goddamn it!

Don't you get it? She was my savior first!

But then she was falling on to the forest floor and my family was gone. She was dead. I sat on my couch and I vowed that I'd kill, I'd murder, I'd do anything to destroy the place that had taken her from me. Then she was alive! In my arms! Breathing! Alive! Touching me, kissing me. Then I was on the floor and she was gone. She was gone again, to take care of all of you, her new family.

Not that any of that makes a difference now.

I cough again, there's more blood, and I realize there isn't time left to brood. I have to get it out now. The speech, the words are all you have left Cale – quick, while there's still air left in your lungs.

"Max, I hafta-" damn it, can't breathe.

"Don't-" her face is tight, fearful and sudden hope grips me before I quickly beat it back to the dark corners of my heart. She does not love me. She was never mine. I realize this. I know this. I must not hope. I will not let my selfish delusions consume me in my last few moments of clarity.

"Damn it Max, just let me-"

"No Logan! We are _not_ going to do this," then her voice lowers, she looks away, and I'm unsure if she even realizes she is still speaking out loud, "Not you, damn it, not you, they won't-"

"Max!" I grab her covered shoulder and she looks back sharply at me, "I love you."

"Logan," her voice is soft and I find myself trying to explain.

"I know," damned coughing, "I know you don't need – don't want me to, to," I'm not making any sense but this confession is all I have left, so I push on.

"But, I just can't help myself. I can't. I tried to stop it, tried to forget, to end _everything,_" I'm not really sure what I'm talking about anymore.

"Logan-"

"I'm weak. I love you," I'm gasping now, trying to get it all out, staring into her big brown eyes, "I can't stop it. A person can't just change the way they feel, I can't just get over it, it's not something I have the ability to do, emotions don't turn off like that, it doesn't-"

"Logan, _please_-"

"I should have kissed you,"

"What?"

"On the beach, you were so close, and you were looking at me like I was _there_, like I was the only one there,"

"Logan," her voice is hushed and I feel her gloved fingertips brush my cheek before they retreat fearfully.

"I should have kissed you. I don't know why I didn't – I should have just-"

"I love you,"

What?

"What?"

I don't–she just–what? It was a hushed whisper, it could have been anything—

"I love you Logan." She crying. My Max is crying? When did she start crying?

The fingertips are on my face again and I feel them trembling.

_She loves me? _

"You," I breathe deep, trying to calm myself, "You love me?"

"Yes," I've never seen her like this, never heard her voice break like it did just now, "I always have."

I am filled with an intense urgent _need_ to touch her, kiss her, grab her and hold her in my arms.

_She loves me!_

"Max," my hand reaches out before I can think but she catches it in her gloved hands before bare flesh can make contact.

All of a sudden we're not alone and I feel myself being lifted. A flurry of moment, pairs of hand and a bizarre feeling of vertigo hovers around me as I stare, transfixed at _her._

My Max. My love. My family.

_She loves me. _

"Max," all I have left is her, her face, scared and bare, her love, her life.

"I'm sorry," she whispers and I have no idea why. How could she possibly be sorry for anything.

I don't have the sense or the energy to protest as they transfer me to stretcher and start to move me away from her, but I grab her hand and hold on and to my amazement she stays with the stretcher. She stays with me.

_She loves me. _

But then she is gone and there is metal and bright lights and movement and confusion and voices muttering and yelling.

The voices flitter back and forth and sometimes I can understand and sometimes I can't.

"An ordinary with gunshot wound to the-"

"Thirty year old white male-"

"Jesus. It's Logan-"

"We're gonna need a transfusion-"

"Did Zine ever get that defibrillator working?"

"Who?"

"Do we know how long he was Bleed-"

"Are we going to need it?"

"Max's guy-"

"Shit-"

Why is she sorry? She has nothing to be sorry for, or ashamed of, because I know who she is.

_She loves me._

What shall become of the poor mortal now? He knows the truth but what difference could it make. The pathetic human is not saved by love. How could his fate be changed by the utterance of three incredibly tiny insignificant words?

_She's always loved me._

I don't want to die. I don't.

_What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand that I yet know not?_

_Always._

Funny how life turns out.

_She loves me. _

"CLEAR!"

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Omg, that was wierd. What will happen next?

Please review.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing... except for some apples and a half block of cheese... oh wait a dog just eat the cheese... that can't be good.

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**Fortune's Fool**

_Part III_

_By Toblerone_

* * *

A tremendous effort is made. Hands flutter over my body, metallic utensils glint in the florescent lighting. I don't know if the lack of pain is from drugs or if I am so foregone that I am past all sensation. I think we ran out of drugs a month ago.

Someone is talking to me. Saying my name. Attempting to rouse me, keep me awake, alive.

"Logan," they say. "Logan can you hear me?"

Logan… Logan… Logan… Who is this Logan you speak of? Is he a man or a fool? Perhaps both. Does he love in vain? Yes, I think so.

NO! No! She loves me. That's right, I almost forgot. She is mine just as much as I am hers. Does that us both fools then? Fools is a fun word to say. Fools, fools, foooools. Foully foolish fools frolic in the flaming field. The field is soaked in blood and wine. Very strange. Very strange indeed.

For some reason I can't think stop thinking about my mother. Her image flashes across my mind's eye and I remember about the way her red hair had blond highlights in the summer, and her fake smile she only used around Jonas and Margo. I think about how we used to go on bike rides together when Dad was away. She had the same bike helmet my whole life, purple and white.

There are tubes coming out of me now, in strategic locations. I can make out certain features in the different people hovering about. I can tell that one of them has too much feline DNA, and another has two different colored eyes. They work in a fluid motion, passing instruments and shouting out instructions to each other. It's all very repetitive and tiresome, but I am glad I am coherent enough to witness their efforts.

Sometimes I drift away and it's nothing but swirling unconsciousness and my mother's eyes flashing in my head. I have her eyes, I think of her every time I look in the mirror.

I wish I had have kissed Max before, when we were alone. I would have liked that. Now, don't get me wrong, I would nothing more than to live through this. I want this to be just another scar to add to my collection. A kiss would have meant death, sure, but that's going to happen anyway. A kiss would have been nice. Poetic. _Thus with a kiss I die_ or any other classic lovers-separating/dieing-kissing-for-the-last-time citation. Plus, I haven't kissed her in a while. A long while. Too long.

I wonder how long I've been on this table. It's seems like it's been hours. It's probably only been a few minutes. Fifteen at most.

The feline transgenic is wiping my brow with a wet cloth. It seems a pointless gesture, but it feel nice and I'd thank her if I could. I find her whiskers oddly comforting. I wonder what her job is here in Terminal City. Does she cleanse all who near death or am I special? I realize she has a long black tail and I watch it sway back and forth behind her. Surely a tail must get in the way sometimes. It could get caught in a door or whack into the person next to you in an elevator.

_Keep your eyes open!_

If you find this all very confusing, think about how I must feel.

_Keep your eyes open!_

_Fuck, that hurt!_ What the hell was that? Jesus Christ, I'm already dieing do they really need to poke at me? Wait, I felt something. What the hell does that mean? Is the situation getting better or worse than before?

_Keep your eyes open!_

I groan and turn my face away from the lights above me. I'm sweating. When did it get so hot? I want to keep my eyes open, but everything is so disorienting.

_Keep your eyes open!_

Part of me wishes that I was still _out there_, wherever it was I fell out there. At least I was with Max there. I could have watched her breathe until I died or enjoyed the whole kissing thing. Now I'm just waning in and out of consciousness, waiting for inevitable, thinking of her.

_Keep your eyes open! KeepyoureyesopenKeepyoureyesopenKeepyoureyesopenKeepyoureyesopen. Stay alive! Don't die. _

She's in shadow, leaning heavily against the wall. Her face is perfection, but her tears are terror while her eyes still hope.

I didn't realize she was still in the room.

There's someone next to her. Tall, shaggy. Joshua.

He pulls on her arm, but she shakes her head. She's staying.

Don't torture yourself like this Max. I watched you die once, it wasn't something I enjoyed. Breath left your lungs and there was nothing I could do. I'd never felt so helpless. Never.

I tried to save you.

"_Max. Max. Max. No. Max. No."_

"_She's gone."_

I sat on my couch and observed, in mild fascination, my own destruction.

_Why did it feel like this? We only knew each other for a little while. It was only one year. _

_It only took one minute. _

I tried to avenge you.

_A long finger caressed a computer screen. A blurry picture was all that remained of you. _

But you had your own plans, as always.

On the third day you were gone I sobbed like a little girl for five hours. Then I was empty inside. Then I was angry. Then I was going to destroy them. Then I was The Mighty Eyes Only, avenger of his beloved. Then I was just a man who missed you.

I missed you so bad.

I want to fight this. I want to emerge victorious over the reaper and fate. I want to smile at you again and tell you I'm sorry and hold you and love you and make babies and be with you. That's all I want.

But, but.

I try to focus on your form but my vision is blurry without my glasses.

I hope you'll be okay.

I hope this won't stop you, that this won't destroy and you'll move on. I hope one day you'll just be another old lady who glances out the window of one of those tall buildings and thinks of a bespectacled, scruffy bearded idealist in a wheelchair who cooked you pasta sometimes and loved you always. I hope you'll be happy.

I hope I don't die.

All I can do now is hope and since hope is for losers, my dear, I suppose I don't have much of a chance.

Okay, Important Question Time:

Am I to die?

_I know not. _

Am I to live?

_Who can say? _

Was I yours?

_Of course._

Were you mine?

_Yes, always. _

Well then, I'll be alright. It's you I'm worried about.

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FIN. 


End file.
